Shattered Diamonds
by Loyal Beast
Summary: Draco and Harry find their way to Hogwarts for their sixth year, only to face a growing darkness within their world that threatens to overwhelm them. In the darkest of places, they find love. Love is unstoppable, like gravity, indefinable. HarryDraco.


**Title:** Shattered Diamonds

**Author:** Loyal Beast (aka BeautyLiesWithin)

**Genre:** Angst/Romance/Drama

**Summary:** Draco and Harry find their way to Hogwarts for their sixth year, only to face a growing darkness within their world that threatens to overwhelm them- and in the most unlikely of places, they find love. Love is unstoppable, like gravity, indefinable, like diamonds, unbreakable. "For one night… let me take you away from this world." Slash, Harry/Draco.

**Chapter One; Of musings and dieing glass.**

"Do I dare disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

- T.S. Eliot, 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'

When I can't sleep at night (which is quite often), I lie in my enormous bed and think about him. How much I hate him… Harry Fucking Potter. Granted, it's actually quite awkward to admit that I lie awake and think of… _him_… when I can't lose myself in sleep- or any other time, for that matter. It's even more awkward to admit that he's what occupies my thought the most. I suppose 'obsession' isn't the right word, it's more or less a 'preoccupation'- by mere technicality, unfortunately.

I stare at my high bedroom ceiling, trying to count all the green leaves on the intricate vine pattern stenciled onto the walls, trying to divert my thoughts. No such luck, it seems pointless trying to fight it. So I surrender to my downfall, and fall I do.

That damn, smug bastard. Why do I hate him the way I do? God. It's just… everything about him infuriates me. He gets to me like no one else does. Everything he says and does is enough to drive me insane. The way he's so… careless with himself. Merlin knows how I hate it… How dare he have that luxury- the luxury to be blithe- when I have to scrutinize every word, gesture and breath that I release? It's just not fucking _fair_. And God have mercy, because I hate him.

Sometimes, I deliberately provoked him. I loved and hated seeing that vermillion red blush creep onto his goddamn face. His brow would wrinkle in frustration, and his acid-green eyes would shine with embarrassment. The prat let his emotions overwhelm him so quickly and easily, it's akin to watching fire burn through powdery snow.

I hate him for existing… For fucking up everything my family has ever lived for. I hate everything about him.

The way he pushes his hair out of his eyes with his left hand, the way his lips curl when he laughs and smirks, the way he talks back tongue-in-cheek to his professors, the way he lifts his fork to his mouth, the way his hand clutches his quill, the way his eyebrows raise in mock surprise when he sees me, the way his lips pout and move when he's angry, the way his robes fall from his shoulders, the way his fingers curl around his wand, the way his brow furrows and tongue sticks out when he's concentrating, the way his knuckles pale when he fists his hands in anger, the way he constantly bites his lower lip, the way he always manages to come up with witty insults, they way he saunters into the Great Hall with an air of irritation, the way his green eyes flash whenever I ridicule him and his pathetic friends, the way his chest moves when he breathes…

I hate everything about him- the fucking bastard.

I roar and throw a fist at my window, feeling the glass splinter into a thousand pieces after a millisecond. The shards fly into a myriad of light, ripping my wrists and cutting my face, but I hardly register the pain coursing through my veins. I feel a stream of blood trickle down my face onto the pristine marble floor. Like I give a fuck. I just wish it was _his_ blood, I wish it was _him_ who was feeling this pain at the moment.

I want to hurt him- I want to see him bleed and cry. I can't help but let a small smile twitch at the corner of my lips as I indulge in a particularly nasty daydream of Potter sniveling at my feet as he dies. I feel a tickling sensation where the blood meets the corner of my lips. I dart out my tongue and gather the drops and can't help but grimace, as I recall how many times I've tasted it. I was never very fond of the taste.

I stare at my once immaculate nails- they are now encrusted in drying blood and throbbing from the glass shards imbedded in the tears. I can't help but recall that first time I ever bothered with Potter- the humiliation of it all… A Malfoy being rejected... By the bloody bastard that wove the destruction of my father's pride. I flinch as I imagine my thousand ancestors turning in their graves whenever I recall that hideous day. Merlin forgive me.

But I suppose, in a way, he didn't reject me. Rather, the moment his cool glare lowered my proposal, he accepted me into his life as his future nemesis, arch-rival and partner in crime. As much as I loathe to admit- We were each other's foils.

It was always just the two of us, ever since our first year. He was obsessed with hating me. My grudge was (initially), much more petty. I simply hated him out of my age-long hereditary prejudice bequeathed upon me by my father. (On that note, I'd prefer not to recall the flogging I received when my father heard news of my extended offer for alliance). Nonetheless, it was always me and Potter. If you had attempted to walk through the space between myself and Potter during a staring match, you would have encountered tension so thick you may as well have walked into a brick wall.

When we glared at each other, we forgot who we were- and for that one moment, we became obsessed with the other and found ourselves lost in passionate fury. It's almost, dare I say it, thrilling… To be so consumed by hatred that one forgets his existence…

When he stares at me with those fierce jade eyes of his, I forget my name. I suspect he feels the same. Few rivalries can rival that of ours.

In a sense, our relationship was more complex than any other that we may ever encounter. It was always… us. Our rivalry, our hatred… it was always so exclusive. Potter and I. It was as though our vicious tirade was a members only club- one that no Weasley, Granger or Longbottom could enter, regardless of how fuelled their hatred was.

He is intolerably transparent- irritatingly so. It's like staring into a gaping window of stupidity whenever he bared his teeth.

"I'm Harry Potter, please read me like an open book!" he would scream.

And, morbidly fascinated, I could never put the book down.

**Reviews if you enjoyed it. Constructive critisism is also really appreciated, as I don't have anyone to beta this. It's going to be a pretty long story, and I hope everybody will stay loyal and follow this to the end. Thank you very much! Sincerely, your LOYAL BEAST. **


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